


in these volatile times

by sxldato



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But today is not that day, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sickfic, Vomiting, bucky is sixteen in the comics okay and i'm not THAT kind of gross, don't fucking fight me about this, i think, jewish bucky is canon, once again this is just gross, some pretty graphic descriptions of concentration camp victims, someday i will write something where bucky is happy, the shipping part of this is unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxldato/pseuds/sxldato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Bucky saw in the Nazi base haunts his subconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in these volatile times

**Author's Note:**

> In a comic that covers Bucky's life story, there's a part where he and Toro sneak into a Nazi base to rescue a prisoner, and Bucky discovers that not only is it a Nazi base, but it's also a concentration camp. He, quite understandably, loses his shit, and starts whooping some major ass.
> 
> But he's also sixteen years old, and I can't help but think that seeing something like that would leave its mark.
> 
> Obviously there's a lot of talk about Nazis and concentration camps and the fact that Jewish people were in there, so if this makes you uncomfortable, I'd suggest not reading this.
> 
> The title is from IAMX's song "Volatile Times."
> 
> (Also an important note: _I'm_ Jewish, so don't get all up in my face yelling about how I'm "exploiting" this or whatever. This is _my_ cultural background, I can write about it if I want to, fuck off.)

He thought that the initial shock and rage had been it. He thought the promise he’d made to those people would let him sleep easy that night, and that somehow knowing that soon they’d be set free would make it all okay.

Except he hadn’t thought. He’d _prayed_. That had been the only solution he could think of. There was no way to be sure of anything during times like these, only faith in something bigger and stronger and wiser than you.

(He’d had to get rid of the thin gold chain with the Star of David that used to hang around his neck because it would have become something of a noose if anyone had seen, but Bucky still had faith in god. Maybe it was foolish of him to think that way with so many things going wrong nowadays, but he couldn’t stop believing, couldn’t stop muttering Hebrew prayers under his breath each time they went out to fight, and he didn’t want to. This was something that was his. It was intimate and stabilizing, and he doubted he’d have been able to get so far if he’d given it up.)

Bucky had never put his faith in another _person_ until now, but Steve was bigger and stronger and wiser, filled with righteous fury, a burning golden beacon of hope; and Bucky loved the color of his eyes, the curve of his cupid’s bow, and the way his arms made the entire world fade away when Steve wrapped one around his shoulders. 

(There were so many problems with how he felt about Steve, the simplest being that he was sixteen and Steve was twenty-four. Bucky didn’t like thinking about the problems that went beyond that.)

He’d been trying his best to carry his weight in a group of super-humans, and he liked to think he’d done a pretty good job. So he’d been stabbed in the leg a few days ago and he’d lodged the same knife in someone’s throat, but there was a sort of rush that came with being so close crossing the line between life and death. Not only was it one of the bravest things he’d ever done, but Steve being proud of him made his heart leap with each beat.

Maybe that had been one of the reasons why he'd been so eager to rescue that U.S. spy. He'd do anything to earn praise from Steve. Was that pathetic of him? Probably.

The mission itself went fine, but the images of what he'd seen were burned into his retinas and he couldn't get rid of them. 

The adrenaline pumping through his veins during the rescue had to wear off at some point, and when night came, the true horror of what he’d seen began oozing into his subconscious.

He could barely breathe in the mass of skeletal bodies. The dead were one thing, but these people still had pulses and still stared at him with empty eyes. It was a sea of black and white stripes, shaved heads, gaunt faces, and small bursts of color from the triangle patches on their uniforms, but that wasn’t what made Bucky’s heart slam to a stop.

It was the stars. Just like the one he used to wear around his neck.

His chest tightened and his stomach clenched. The ground below him seemed to fall away. He didn’t know what those other symbols meant, but the stars shouted a message that was loud and clear in the confusion and terror clouding Bucky’s thoughts. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he _could_ say _anything_ —what good would words do? He couldn’t even open his mouth if he wanted to. His jaw felt sealed shut.

Their hands were cold when they grabbed him and he felt their bones through their skin. He saw sickly blue veins spreading over their skulls like cracks in ice. 

He screamed—

His tears were hot—

_“I’m sorry—“_

Bucky sat bolt upright with the words still caught in his throat. He was drenched in sweat, the remaining images of his nightmare made his stomach lurch, and he managed to untangle himself from the sheets before stumbling across the hall into the bathroom. 

✪

Steve had never been a light sleeper. Partial deafness made it easy to fall asleep when his rattling lungs weren’t startling him back into consciousness with each breath he struggled to take. The constant buzz of Brooklyn, the taxis and the hundreds of footsteps, the trains clattering by and the people yelling in the streets didn’t have any affect on him. All that noise was nothing but a low hum that lulled him to sleep.

At least, it used to be. Now with the perpetual threat of being attacked and the knowledge that battles were being fought and men were dying every day left him with his eyes peeled and his ears alert.

And if his hearing wasn’t so damn good, if he was still the same man he used to be back in Brooklyn who wasn’t on the defensive every minute, he wouldn’t have heard the muffled sobs coming from down the hallway; but he was glad he did. 

Steve threw the blankets off of him and got out of bed, quietly padding down the hall.

✪

In his own defense, it was hard to control how loud he was when he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and started to gag. Being quietly sick was not one of his many talents. He gave himself credit for making it to the toilet, but it didn’t matter. He’d still woken Steve.

That might not have been his fault, either. The guy had super- _everything._

“Bucky?”

“Don’t,” he groaned, not even trying to wipe the tears from his face. If he lifted his arms from his slumped position over the toilet bowl, he’d probably collapse and end up braining himself on the hard surface of the floor. “Don’t come in—“

A string of curses escaped under his breath as he heard the door creak open.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re alright,” Steve said, and Bucky realized with a slight tug at his heartstrings that Steve was still giving him privacy by not peering around the door. “You sound like you’re having a rough time.”

Bucky was about to respond that he was fine and that he could take care of himself when a wave of nausea swept through him, heat racing from the small of his back to the nape of his neck. He gripped the seat, letting his head hang over the water as he choked and retched.

“Bucky, please just let me help you.”

Steve sounded desperate and Bucky was in no position to be making objections. Once the nausea died down to a dull ache again and he was able to pull the lever to flush away the mess, he managed a weak “okay” before burying his head back in his arms, staring into the water that was slowly refilling the bowl. 

Bucky heard the door open all the way, and he didn’t even need to look up to know that Steve was standing in the entrance looking like some goddamn giant golden retriever in a shirt that was too tight and boxers that were too short.

(Not that Bucky was complaining or anything.)

Steve knelt down next to Bucky and began rubbing small circles into his back. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet and soothing. “What’s going on?”

Bucky made a promise to himself not to throw up on Steve before lifting his head. He knew his eyes must have been bloodshot, and there were definitely rivulets of saliva dripping from his lower lip to his chin, and he had never felt so ashamed. For sixteen years he’d been able to put on a good face and pretend he was fine, and that all had gone out the window in the last five seconds.

No one had seen him like this before. No one was supposed to.

“Today,” Bucky said, “the Nazi base. I can’t stop thinking about the people I saw.”

“We’re gonna tell someone about it and they’ll get them all out, okay? Just remember that.”

“No, no, it’s not…” Bucky swallowed. He wasn’t going to throw up. “They had badges. Like… a lot of ‘em had different colored triangles, but the ones I remember…” His eyes were stinging. “They were stars. Jewish stars.”

Realization dawned on Steve’s face. “Oh, god, Bucky…”

Bucky could only shake his head and let the tears fall. “I know it might not make sense to you, but we’re—we’re all family. That’s my family in there and I didn’t even know.”

“None of us knew, Buck. There was no way you could have known, and it’s not your fault they’re in there.”

“But I should’ve been able to do something,” Bucky protested. “ _We_ should’ve done something. What good are we if we can’t help people who need it?”

“We weren’t ready to help thousands of people make an escape. We would need more soldiers and transport—do you think those people could’ve walked for miles and miles in their condition?”

Bucky was silent, partially because Steve had a point, but also because he was biting back the urge to vomit.

“We’re gonna get them out soon,” Steve said. “But we need to make sure we’re prepared.”

Bucky hiccuped and pressed his hand to his mouth, willing himself not to be sick. “I keep seeing their faces,” he managed from behind his fingers. “And how thin they were. Like their bodies had died but they were still alive inside and they couldn’t get out…”

He tried to swallow again, but he ended up gagging, saliva dribbling down his chin and into his palm. He swore shakily and was about to wipe his hand on his shirt because he no longer had the energy it took to care about being sanitary, but Steve gently caught him by the wrist.

“Don’t do that—just get your head over the bowl and I’ll clean up your hand.”

Bucky rested his head against the cool porcelain and watched with shame heating his face as Steve wiped the puke from his hand with a few squares of toilet paper.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, using his free arm to wrap around his stomach.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked. “You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I was outta my depth, taking a mission that wasn't even meant to be mine…” He coughed painfully into the water. “I didn’t—didn’t even realize how scared I was until now.”

“We’re all scared,” Steve said. He’d begun rubbing Bucky’s back again, and Bucky fought the desire to sigh with relief at the contact. “Just because we’re bigger doesn’t mean we aren’t afraid.”

Bucky wanted to reply, but his gut did an agonizing flip and he choked on the bile surging up into his throat, burning it raw. His grip tightened on the seat until his knuckles turned white. The veins in his throat jutted out from the effort it took to gag and he tried to focus on Steve’s voice, the comforting touch, anything but the pain and the faces and the bones and all of those stars—

He’d never look at the sky again.

By the time he had finished, he was trembling and a thin layer of sweat had formed on his brow. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“You’re shaking,” Steve said, worry clear in his tone. “I’m gonna get you a blanket, okay? Just sit tight.”

“Where would I possibly go?” Bucky said half to himself as he watched Steve disappear into the hall. _Where would I go when all I have anymore is right here?_

He hated when thoughts like that came out of nowhere.

Steve wasn’t gone long, but it was enough time for Bucky to realize the bathroom echoed, and Steve would have heard him no matter how quiet he had been. That made him feel a little better. 

He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until Steve came back and draped the blanket around his shoulders. Warmth seeped into his body, steadying his heartbeat and settling his stomach.

“Thanks, Cap,” he croaked.

“Not a problem,” Steve replied. “How are you feeling?”

Bucky shrugged, and then when he realized that was a childish response, he said, “Still kinda gross.” He pulled the blanket taut around him and wiped the remaining tears from his face. “I can’t stop thinking about how many of them are already gone… How much time we’ve wasted…” He looked up at Steve, seeking solace in the cornflower blue of his eyes. “Do you ever think like that? How things would be different if you did something another way? What if we could have stopped this? What if…” He settled back against the wall, drawing his legs up to his chest. “What if we could have stopped all of this?”

“I think that way all the time,” Steve confessed, taking a seat next to Bucky.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Steve stretched his legs out and they touched the opposite wall. “It’s hard not to think about what you could have done or what might have been the better choice. Sometimes it feels like the fate of the world is on your shoulders and it’s your fault every time someone dies.” He paused. “For the two of us, I’ll admit that it’s actually sometimes true. But this—those people at the base—that wasn’t in our control. But now that we know, we’re gonna do something about it. That’s all we can do. There’s no point in thinking about what we could have done. The past can’t be changed.”

Bucky nodded slowly. His eyes were staring into nothing, seeing something that Steve couldn’t. “That could have just as easily been me in there.”

“I know." 

“That’s really scary to think about.”

“I know.” Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, gently pulling him close. “It’s gonna be okay, Bucky. We’ll get them out and we’ll keep you safe. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

 Bucky gave in to exhaustion and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

✪ 

Promises made during the heat of war are very rarely kept.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm extremely talented at making things gross _and_ sad
> 
> i also just love comic verse bucky to pieces and i've wanted to write a comic verse fic for such a long time. MCU bucky is a hot piece of shit but comic verse bucky is just a gem of sarcasm and reckless decision making and i love him so much because that is literally me
> 
> i'm pretty sure that if i ever met comic verse bucky i would make fun of his outfit, he'd punch me in the nose, and then we'd be best friends
> 
> (if you've read this comic then you know that they actually stay at an army base when this happens and not the safe house they were at in the beginning but does it matter??? is it crucial to the plot??? i don't think so)


End file.
